A Shoulder to Cry On
by CowboySteel
Summary: She always thought she was strong, but even the strongest have a breaking point. Oneshot following Stella's abuse at the hands of Frankie, how she deals with it. Enjoy.


Hey, this is my first attempt at a CSI:NY oneshot, so i may not be the best. But my beautiful beta, DevilMayCare101 is one of the best and she assures me its okay. I realise there are a couple of possible pairings for Stella, but i thought I would support both camps and leave opportunities haha. So i hope you enjoy this oneshot!!! Do review me at the end, and let me know what you thought :)

Having recieved a review that was good (ish), I would just like to reply to her claim that I wasn't fair to both camps. I never said that the references were equal, I just said I included both, which I did do. And I enjoy writing Flack a lot more because hello! he's sexy haha. But I guess Mac is too, but I prefer writing for Flack, hence his appearance at the end. So sorry for any distress or whatever caused, I just thought I should explain myself.

Thanks to all reviewers, however, as all our most welcome.

Disclaimer: CSI is so NOT mine.

Enjoy.

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_**A shoulder to cry on...**_

Stella climbed into bed, pulling the covers around her, and sinking into the pillows. She didn't want to cry, she didn't think it was right. She had killed a man, her man and she couldn't bring herself to feel any remorse. She was angry, that was all. She was meant to be this strong woman, but she had let herself be manipulated by him, she had let herself become so vulnerable. And she had a hard time forgiving herself.

She cradled her hands, caressing her stitched fingers, and gulping. She tensed. She had sworn never to let herself be so taken in, but she dreads to think what might have happened if she hadn't got that gun first. Don and Mac would be planning to bury her right now.

She'd told him she loved him. She had said the words that meant so much, and she didn't think she'd ever be able to say those words again. How could she, when the last person had abused her so much? He had messed with her trust and she could barely bring herself to leave the comfort of her duvet, let alone escape into the wider world. She was disgusted with herself really, and what he had reduced her to.

Her head began to throb and she carefully ran a finger across her forehead, surprised to feel the sweat lingering there. She had killed this man, and still he was scaring her. She had never been so hopeless. She didn't want to be scared anymore. She didn't want to feel betrayed anymore.

Sometimes she thought what it might be like to feel trust again, wondering as she had looked into Mac's eyes whether her future held possibilities. But the point was, she had been broken by this man, and she was sure it would take a while for her to glue herself back together. There were some injuries that only time could heal.

She pulled the sheets up further, and glanced over to the empty spot beside her. It felt so cold, and she was repulsed to think how Frankie had once possessed that spot in her own bed. It was her haven and he had penetrated it.

He had burst into her apartment, pledged his undying love and killed her heart in the process. She wanted to curl up and forget about it. Surely she could. In her line of work, it wasn't supposed to be this hard. She was used to seeing distress, used to putting herself in difficult and terrible positions. And it should be second nature. So why was she finding it so hard to even look at that side of her bed?

She bit her lip to stop the tears from flowing. She wouldn't let Frankie hurt her anymore. She was stronger than this.

"C'mon, Bonasera. Pull yourself together." She murmured to herself. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, clinging to any sense of strength she had left.

It was the silence that was really getting to her. The echoes seemed to reverberate throughout the room, the chasm like shadows cast by her bedside lamp making her flinch every time they flew across her face. She could almost hear Frankie's voice shouting, screaming at her.

Her hand flew to her cheek. She hated this. She didn't want to be alone anymore. As much as she hated Mac being so protective, she had to concede that it was nice to have someone care for her again.

Slowly, she picked up the phone beside her, and dialled the number, wanting to put it down every time her fingers punched a button.

She closed her eyes and shook her head as she waited for the message tone.

"Uh, hey Mac…um, yeah, it's Stella…"

She paused. She didn't want to ask for help.

"Um…oh, do you know what? It doesn't matter…just, y'know…thought I'd check in I guess…um, so bye."

She put the phone down and threw it away. She rubbed a hand down her face, wincing as stitches caught on stitches.

She heard a knock on her door. Instinctively, she sank back into her bed, but a tougher more firm knock forced her to get up. She swallowed and wriggled out of bed. She grabbed for her gun, but didn't feel the same reassurance she usually felt having it grasped firmly in her hands. She put the chain on the door, and opened it a crack, her heart pumping hard in her chest.

"Oh Flack!" She almost cried right there, releasing the breath she barely realised she was holding.

"Hey, Stella…you okay?"

"Ha, yeah…come in." She opened the chain and let him walk in. She hated the way it reminded of her Frankie. She pushed back the thought and moved to the kitchen.

"Do you wanna coffee or something?"

"No, no, I'm good…I just came to see if you were okay. I knew you were alone tonight, and thought you might, I dunno, want some company…"

She stood with her arms folded in front of her, smiling weakly.

"Thanks, Don. You really didn't have to. I'm fine…"

"Really? Is that why you almost had a heart attack opening the door?" He smiled.

"Please…don't start."

"Hey, I'm not starting, I just want to you to say that you need a hand instead of suffering in silence…c'mon, Stella, that helps no-one. At least let me look after you for a while…"

"I'm a big girl, Don. I don't need looking after…" Her voice cracked. She did need looking after. She needed to feel safe in her own home again. She wanted to feel safe in the presence of another man again, without the whole worry that he might turn on her.

"I know, you don't. But I'd like to."

She smiled gratefully at him, her body relaxing a little bit. Her arms fell to her side.

"Thanks." She muttered.

They stood there in silence for a second, each one milling over the same event in their head, Flack wondering how on earth he expected to help her, and Stella wondering how on earth she could be helped.

All of a sudden, she couldn't stop it anymore, and the sob she had wanted to let out escaped.

"Hey, hey, hey…" Flack said, soothingly, running to her side. He stroked her arm gently, as the tears started to fall.

Her knees buckled with the weight of the burden Frankie had left in his wake, and she found she could barely prop herself up anymore. Flack caught her by the waist.

"Whoa, sweetheart…c'mon let's sit you down…"

He picked her up in his arms and carried her over to the sofa, mindful of the blood stains adorning her rug.

He laid her beside him, letting her bury her head into his chest.

"S'okay…" He repeated, running his hands across her beautiful curly hair.

"I-I'm sorry…" she whispered.

"Hey, don't be…it's what I'm here for…"

She coughed.

"Thanks…I just don't know…"

"It's alright. Take your time…Stella, you've been through hell, don't expect to go back to normal right away. As much as I'm sure you'd like to think it, you aren't a superhero…Frankie hurt you…"

She nodded into his chest, holding his arms for comfort, relishing the softness his grip offered.

"You just need time to adjust…"

She nodded again, sinking into his grip further, wiping away her tears with her sleeve.

"It's okay…" He continued to stroke her hair, letting her cry, thinking it was the best thing for her to do. He wondered how long she had barricaded them in, cursing Stella's stubborn streak.

Eventually, the cries subsided into quiet, hitching breaths, and Flack just murmured reassurances into her ears, feeling her relax more and more into his hold.

He looked into her peaceful face, and smiled when he saw she had fallen asleep in his arms. Just what the doctor ordered. He jostled her in his grip and carried her to her room, nestling her carefully in her bedclothes. He pulled the duvet up around her, and sighed.

He made his way to leave, and saw the phone lying discarded at the side of the bed. He picked it up, and placed it quietly on her bedside table. He grabbed a note from one of the books that Stella kept so conscientiously at hand.

"Always here." He wrote, signing his name and positioning it under the phone. She wasn't alone, and Flack hoped that, in time, Stella would heal. And then, she would learn to trust again. She might even learn to love.


End file.
